


Home is Where the House is

by amongthedrowned (Merely_Specters)



Series: The Injustice of Undeath [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Dadza, Family Feels, Gen, Gun Violence, Phil Watson-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, not graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28487883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merely_Specters/pseuds/amongthedrowned
Summary: Phil waits for his sons to come home.
Series: The Injustice of Undeath [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086761
Comments: 6
Kudos: 124





	Home is Where the House is

The world was wide, once. In the good old days, every other weekend, Phil camped out in the woods with nothing but a backpack. He wandered in the wilderness, surviving on his wits alone.

After Phil adopted his children, however, these excursions became sparse. Family time filled the days he had off work. Sure, Phil arranged family camping trips, but they were never quite the same. As much as he loved his children, Phil looked forward to the day where he could travel alone once again—not that he wanted to be an empty nester, no, but he did miss the quiet.

What sick irony it was that he got his wish too soon.

Enter: the apocalypse.

The first few days were a blur. The neighbors died quickly to the horde’s hands, but Phil wasn’t so foolish: he barricaded himself in his home and hushed, waiting for the zombies to pass.

By the time he tried calling Wilbur, though, it was too late: the cell towers were down, and Phil had no way to communicate. It would take months to find them, even if he knew their exact locations. With dawning horror, Phil realized that he and his sons might as well have been in different worlds. For all he knew, they could have been injured, or worse—

Phil stopped himself. His sons weren’t dead; they couldn’t be. He would have felt it if they died (or at least, he’d like to think so).

If he left their home, his children wouldn’t know where he was or how to find him. There was only one option—to stay.

Phil scavenged what food and water were left around the neighborhood, and then he holed up inside. He locked the doors and closed the blinds, ducking under tables when zombies and raiders alike rode past. Phil had enough supplies to last him months: that would be long enough for his sons to find him, right?

Days passed, then weeks.

In the meantime, Phil took care of the house. When the candles ran out, he made new ones. When the canned goods dwindled, he started a farm in the backyard. When a pint-sized zombie broke through the window, he bashed its head in.

The calendar on the wall transitioned from spring to summer. Phil could stay a while longer, wait a little more, give his children the time to come home.

Then, one night—

 _Crash_.

From his room, Phil heard the crackle of broken glass and muffled cursing. _Tommy_. Phil raced down the stairway two steps at a time, bursting into the kitchen to find—

A woman stood frozen, one hand in Phil’s pantry and the other holding a gun. A gun. She raised it, pointing it directly at him. “Don’t try anything. It’s loaded.”

Phil glanced around the room and swore under his breath. The bat was too far, and so were the rest of his weapons.

Phil kept his hands by his sides. “Put down the gun and leave,” Phil said. “If you shoot me, you’ll have a zombie to contend with.”

The woman’s hand didn’t shake even as she kept the gun trained at his head. “Put your hands up.”

Unassuming, Phil slowly raised his hands… and lunged, grabbing the barrel of the gun and pointing it up just as three shots rang out. He pushed forward, slamming the woman into the countertop. He wrenched her wrists behind her back and pried the gun from her hands.

“You know, you could have just asked for food, if you needed it.” He let go of her, the woman’s own gun aimed at the back of her head. The woman began to speak, but Phil cut her off. “Now go, before I become a real threat.”

The woman scampered off, climbing back through a now-broken window

Phil looked up at the ceiling—three bullets were embedded in the whitewash. He looked for a moment at the gun in his hand.

Phil sighed.

After a brief moment, he went upstairs to pack his bags.

He took the night to wander in each room, savoring every inch of their walls. He stopped in each of the bedrooms before leaving, taking items from each: a CD for Tommy, a guitar for Wilbur, a book for Techno. When he found them—because he _would_ find them—he wanted to give them a little bit of home. Then, Phil stuffed his backpack with the rest: family albums, food, and camping gear.

Phil left the front door unlocked: maybe some lonely passerby might find safety in this house. After all, he wouldn’t be coming back.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a part of my AU The Injustice of Undeath! You can find more information on it [the AU masterpost](https://amongthedrowned.tumblr.com/post/636607596831391745/the-injustice-of-undeath-masterpost). As for me, you can find me on tumblr at [@amongthedrowned](https://amongthedrowned.tumblr.com/)


End file.
